


Hard to Think

by fo4companionmusings, relatablepicsofrustyventure (fo4companionmusings)



Category: The Venture Bros
Genre: Angst, Childhood Trauma, Drinking, FIGURING OUT YOUR SEXUALITY, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, Intrusive Thoughts, Knives, M/M, Mental Illness, Mild Gore, Pining, Size Difference, Sneaking Out, Substance Abuse, Trauma, strip clubs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-25
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-11-05 07:26:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 8,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17914445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fo4companionmusings/pseuds/fo4companionmusings, https://archiveofourown.org/users/fo4companionmusings/pseuds/relatablepicsofrustyventure
Summary: **FIC IS A WIP. SOME THINGS ARE PRONE TO CHANGE. UPDATES AT LEAST ONCE A WEEK.**





	1. Chapter 1

It was late one night. Rusty was feeling particularly wired. Everything around him was really over-stimulating, so he snuck out for the evening, alone. It’s never usually smart for him to wander off on his own, but he did anyway. 

The beat of a song in a club meant for people a lot younger than him was deafening. He made his way over to the bar and sat down, noting how beautiful the bartender looked. She had long blonde hair that flowed down to her waist, with dark hazel eyes. She looked vaguely familiar, but Rusty had no clue as to where he’d seen her before. There was another bartender a bit further down, a man. Average, short, black-haired. 

He felt like he stuck out in the crowd a bit, but nobody else seemed to pay him a second glance, luckily enough for him. He ordered a weird fruity looking drink that they had in their menu then started sipping it.

Recently, Dean had come out to him as bisexual. He didn’t really handle the situation like a dad should have. It was awkward and he’s 100% sure Dean just went and talked to Hank instead after. It was just another thing he felt like shit about, but wasn’t gonna do anything to fix it. 

As he finished the first drink, he ordered another one, but this drink was a bit harder.. Less fruity. He downed that one quick too. Drink after drink down the hatch and Rusty was absolutely blasted. Stumbling to the bathroom, he laid a hand against the wall for support before falling over and smacking his head. 

He woke up some time later with a sticky note on the back of his head that simply had a drawing of a dick on it. He felt so idiotic that he crawled in to the grungy stall and shut the door, all while not standing up off the ground. Being drunk really made him have terrible intrusive thoughts. 

Rusty started violently shaking. Someone pounded on the door, but then left when he managed to squeak out an “Occupied.” He figured maybe then it was time that he returned home, if he could handle it. 

He stood, still shaking, and made the journey home. The second he stumbled through the door with zombie-like steps, he darted to his room and collapsed against the side of his bed. He was remembering shit he thought he had long since forgotten, but fuck.. It was back. All of it. 

Stuff with his dad he didn’t think happened, but it happened. It happened and it was too much. Rusty threw his glasses across his room and shoved his face in to pillow. He sobbed as hard as he could without actually making a noise. 

There was a knock at the door. A very small tap, tap, tap. He assumed it was Hank or Dean and started getting pissed, but when the door open and the hallway light shined in on the tears on his face, it was someone else entirely, Brock. 

He put his pillow back up against his face, but he wasn’t crying anymore. He didn’t want anyone to see him like this.

“Doc.. Uh.. What’s.. What’s up?” Brock asked as he scrubbed his hand against the back of his neck.

Instantly Rusty was back together. He pulled the pillow down and wiped away any remaining tears. “It’s.. Ah, it’s nothing. It’s not a problem.” He stated.

Brock sat on the bed, while Rusty was still on the floor, using the bed as a backrest. He didn’t speak for a few moments, but when he did it was soft. “My.. Father.”

Brock looked at Rusty for a second and wasn’t sure if he’d ever see Doc this vulnerable before. 

“Asshole.” Rusty said, wiping away one last tear. One word kept repeating in his mind, idiot. He felt like an idiot for getting like this in the first place. He slumped over and leaned against Brock’s leg. 

Brock rested one arm on the bed and the other on Rusty’s shoulder very lightly. It was almost as if he wasn’t touching Rusty at all. “Asshole,” Brock agreed in response. 

He could smell the alcohol on Doc, but didn’t say anything. Instead, he gripped Rusty’s shoulder ever so slightly tighter. “Where’d you put your glasses?” He asked.

Rusty shrugged. “They flew over there somewhere,” He said, pointing in the direction of where he thought they went. “Bourbon is strong.”

Brock chuckled and started to stand to go grab his glasses, but Rusty had a tight hold on the Brock’s pant leg now. So, he gave up the endeavor and sat there with Rusty, as long as he needed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS CHAPTER IS GONNA BE PRONE TO CHANGE SO PLEASE CHECK BACK FOR UPDATES!! -Levi

The next morning, or rather afternoon, Rusty got crawled out of bed and on to the floor. His glasses were trashed. He threw them so hard that they snapped in two places. He’d just order a new pair. It wasn’t a big deal. 

He made his way to the kitchen, robe wrapped tightly around him. He really didn’t feel like seeing or talking to anyone right now, but other people did live with him so it had to be that way. 

Hank was eating a sandwich and Dean was wrapped up in his phone, texting with the speed of the likes Rusty had never seen before. 

“Who’s that?” Hank stopped mid-bite and waggled his eyebrows at Dean. “Adrian?” 

Dean immediately smacked him. “We’re not kids, Hank.. Doesn’t matter..” 

Rusty shrugged it off and decided to leave them both to their own business. Everyone talking was giving him a worse headache. 

He hated ruts like this. Sure, he’d been to the doctor for depression and anxiety before, but he was too stubborn to go on anything. As of right now, he didn’t really trust himself with medications too. It wasn’t hard to tell that his mental health wasn’t really great right now. 

It was as he was walking away that he caught the tail end of Hank and Dean’s conversation.

“Aren’t you going to tell him you’re dating a guy?” Hank had asked.

Dean let out a sigh and Rusty heard the sound of him setting his phone on the table. “It doesn’t matter, I guess.. He.. Doesn’t care?” 

Everyone was fighting more often lately. It didn’t help that Rusty rarely made an effort when it came to being a dad. He felt another scratch at the back of his mind. Another thought that wanted to repeat itself, but he didn’t let it.

He barely remembers last night. He remembered Brock being there though. They talked for a while and Rusty eventually climbed in to bed and fell asleep. He wishes he knew how long ago that was. Time is all blurred together and even that is making him anxious.

He needed some air, so he took a step outside on to the nearby balcony and placed his hands on the edge, his mind racing to everything that had happened last night. He wanted to remember more. 

Fruity drink, then strong drink. Strong drink. Strong drink. Strong.. He danced for a while with someone. A man, he thought. He had gotten a little too close with some strange guy last night. He wasn’t in to men? Right? It was far from the first time Rusty had gotten black-out drunk, so he gave up on trying to remember things. They usually never came back to him as more than foggy shapes. 

It was hard. He hated how drinking made him feel, but at the same time, he just couldn’t stop. He couldn’t stop. He wanted to break down again, but he just woke up. He couldn’t do this again. He wasn’t going to. 

He dug his fingernails in to the snow that had accumulated on the rail. The cold sent pangs through his fingertips. Those brought him back down to earth.

“Are you okay?” Brock’s voice startled Rusty as the larger man appeared behind him.

Rusty lied. “Hungover.” He said as a lame-ass excuse. 

Brock nodded. “Yeah.”

They stood in the cold for a little while before Brock decided to break the weird silence. “Dean tell you about Adrian?” 

Rusty pressed his palm in to the snow now. “Ah.. I.. Kind of?”

“Are you happy for him?” Brock tried not to sound defensive in his tone, but he really felt like another parental figure for those boys. Sexuality, gender identity, Brock never understood why people got so pissed off about stuff that wasn’t even any of their business. 

Brock’s tone scared Rusty, as he was already somewhat fragile right now. It made him speak a bit deeper than normal. “Yeah, of course I am.” 

“Good,” Was all Brock gave as a response. 

The air was brisk, but thick as hell to Rusty. All he wanted to do was be alone lately. That probably wasn’t very good for him, but what could he do about it? Nothing. 

His mind wandered to last night again and Brock and he stood there in the cold. It was really itching at him, because he couldn’t get over the fact that the bartender looked dangerously familiar and how he remembers the vague image of him dancing with a man, but that was it. 

He turned and walked back inside. He needed a shower or something to clear his mind. He didn’t want Brock leaning over him. He wanted to be alone for a long while.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi, a lot of these chapters are so choppy right now, but I wanna get the rough drafts out then edit them in a little while!~ -Levi

Rusty stepped in to his bathroom and decided upon a bath instead. Showers were alright, but he felt they weren’t good enough to wallow in your own misery in. Baths allowed for contemplation, self-pity. 

“This is where you’re at Rust.. A pity bath.” He mumbled to himself under his breath, chuckling a bit toward the end. 

He turned on the water, making it absolutely scalding hot, then waited for the tub to fill. There was a knock at the door. He had just gone from Brock’s company because he wanted to be left alone, yet he knew it was Brock. Brock’s steps were wide and far between. It wasn’t hard to tell especially when people have been trying to kill you your whole life. You learn whose steps belong to who. 

“Yeah?” He asked, the irritation and anger evident in his tone. 

Brock didn’t open the door, instead Rusty could feel him back away from it and walk away. Everything he did was making people mad at him, and he didn’t care. He didn’t care one bit because he felt so empty. He’d gone from feeling everything, to absolutely nothing in an instant. 

He sat at the edge of the tub, irritated at Brock, the boys, but most of all, himself. That’s when it hit him like a tidal wave. More memories from last night came rushing back to him. It was—A LOT. 

He kissed a man. He tried to convince himself that he actually hadn’t as the memory came back to him, but it was so vivid now. The man he had been dancing with, they were a little too close. They were really, REALLY close: This was a first for Rusty, at least that he could remember. He wouldn’t be surprised if it had happened before, but this is the first time he actually remembered something like this. Maybe he hadn’t been as drunk as he had first thought. Who knows, maybe his mind had just conjured this up entirely. 

He wasn’t homophobic, yet he was trying so hard to convince himself this didn’t happen. He was fine with people kissing whoever they wanted? Why did this bother him so much? He couldn’t wrap him mind around it. 

Rusty stripped down and tossed his communicator watch aside. He took a moment to look in the mirror, scoffed, then sunk down in to the tub. He let the water come up to just below his nose, wincing for a second at the heat of it. His body adjusted rather fast to it though. He was freezing cold from standing outside just in a robe and no shoes, so it only made sense. 

Naturally, the minute the watch wasn’t on his wrist, it rang. It was Hank. Rusty ignored it. He dunked his head under water until the ringing stopped. When he re-surfaced, he took a deep breath in, allowing the silence of the room to surround him. 

Only, it wasn’t silent. There was walking around outside his room. It was faint, but there. There was also faint whispering.

“Look— The man’s at his breaking point? And you let....” Rusty couldn’t make out the words for a minute, “By himself? Jesus, Brock. I’ve got one eye and I still see more than you?” The tone in Billy’s voice was so commanding, so angry. It made Rusty surprised that he wasn’t scared of acting so violent with Brock. 

“Billy, the man is more stubborn than anyone else on the....” The voices got even quieter, who Rusty had now concluded were Pete, Billy, and Brock. “What the hell are..... to do?” Pete said, the usually softness of his voice being evident, making it easier to pick out in the bunch. 

“I dunno? Help him get his shit together?” Billy was borderline shouting at this point. 

“Tried before.” Brock stated simply, speaking for the first time since the whole conversation began.

“GO IN THERE FOR FUCK’S SAKE BROCK AND MAKE SURE HE’S OKAY??” Though Rusty couldn’t tell, Billy was violently waving his arms in the air. 

Brock’s expression changed like the flip of a switch. He didn’t say anything else, but he looked pissed. He made his way in to Doc’s room, his large footsteps getting closer and closer. 

Rusty jumped out of the tub, slipped, fell, and smacked his head for the second time in two days. His head rang with pain and the water around him on the floor was freezing cold. He hung on to consciousness for as long as he could, but he sensed it was fading. He noticed the blood starting to pool around him. He was awake long enough just to see Brock open the door to the bathroom.

Then, everything went dark.


	4. Chapter 4

Rusty woke up with white light shining right in his eyes, blinding him. Not that he could really see without his glasses anyway, so it was all just a bad combination. He was confused and cold, but at least he wasn’t naked anymore. 

“I think he’s awake..” Billy murmured.

Rusty could make out the vague shape of Pete and Billy standing beside his bed. 

“No shit, Billy.” Pete replied as he rolled his eyes.

Rusty’s head was pounding so hard that his vision went in and out of focus. It pulsated in the area where he had fallen. He wondered about just how hard he hit his head. 

It was covered in bandages. He felt so, so disorientated. He had figured out that he was in a hospital, but point A to point B was so blurry. He doesn’t remember anything after he hit seeing Brock open the door. 

“Rust, you feeling alright?” Pete gave him an awkward, yet sympathetic smile.

Rusty let out a groan and covered his ears for a few moments. “Please tell me nobody saw me naked.” 

Pete and Billy laughed. He knew full well Brock had seen every single bit of him, broken, bloody, and in the nude. His face turned red. He hated himself. Sure, Brock had seen him naked before, but this was way more personal. 

Brock walked in now and put out a cigarette on the doorway. A doctor walking by started to tell him that this was literally a hospital and he couldn’t be doing that, but Brock gave him the side eye and the doctor ran down the hallway at the speed of light. 

“So, you’re awake.” 

Rusty nodded. “Mhm..” 

Brock shut the door and stood against it. Not leaning, but almost as if he were trying to keep people out. 

“You lost a LOT of blood. They managed to stitch you back together...” Pete looked away, almost as if he was nauseous from describing it.

“Like.. What? 10 stitches? I think?” Billy pointed to the back of his own head. “Smack on the back of your noggin.” 

Rusty reached back and ran his hand across the bandage on his head. Even more pain shot through him and he regretted his decisions, immediately putting his hand back at his side.

“When can I go?” 

“They said your were free to go when you woke up. You’ve been here since the afternoon on Thursday.. It’s now...” Billy looked around the room for a clock.

“4:35pm on Saturday.” Pete leaned over and glanced at Brock’s wrist. “You’re lucky he found you.” 

“Lucky.. Right..” 

The instant those words left his lips everyone in the room watched Brock’s demeanor change like the flip of a switch. He stepped away from the door, crouched down and pressed a finger against Rusty’s chest.

“You could have fucking died. Stop treating this like it’s a fucking joke.” 

After he finished speaking, he turned and exited the hospital room, slamming the door behind him.

Pete and Billy stood there with the most awkward looks on their faces. Rusty felt heat rising up through his chest and he felt stupid for wanting to cry right now, but to be honest, he was rather easily scared. Lately, he wasn’t as good at hiding it.

“Leave me alone.” He said, feeling his chest tighten and like the air left his lungs.

“Rust-“ Pete attempted to get out, but Rusty interrupted him. 

“Get. Out.” 

He didn’t cry. He instead say there with this feeling of a car sitting on his chest. He sat up on the edge of the hospital bed and pressed his hand against his chest. 

A doctor walked in, an awkward smile on his face. He seemed extremely uncomfortable. 

“Did a tall man out there threaten to tear out your spine if you tried anything funny?” Rusty asked, his hand still on his chest.

“Heheh...” The doctor took another second to compose himself. “Yes, now uh.. How are you feeling?”

“Fine aside from the pain.”

The doctor wrote some stuff down. “Scale of 1-10 how bad is it?”

“7, I guess? I don’t understand how that helps at all.” 

“Mr. Venture, is it?” The doctor Scanner through the papers in front of him, but apparently couldn’t find Rusty’s name on there anywhere. 

“Dr. Venture.” Rusty said, as he used his free hand to rub across his forehead.

“Doctor.. You’re allowed to go, but we’ve got some antibiotics to help prevent infection and pain medication you can take.” The doctor handed him a slip. “There’s a pharmacy on the first floor. They should be able to get everything for you.” 

“No pain meds.” Rusty said, as the doctor moved over and started removing his IV. 

“That’s fine. They aren’t required, just recommended.” 

Once the doctor made sure Rusty was good to go he wrote some more on some papers. “Can you come fill out some more discharge papers at the reception desk on this floor for me?”

Rusty nodded and they both exited the room and headed toward the desk. Rusty saw that Brock was sitting on a bench beside a door to his room. 

Rusty went over to the desk, finished the paperwork as fast as humanly possible and walked over to Brock. 

“Time to go.” He stated, staring past Brock, not actually at him. 

Brock nodded, without saying a word and started heading toward the elevator. Rusty followed behind him. They entered the elevator in total silence, the shitty elevator music ringing throughout the small space.

“White and Billy leave?” Rusty finally asked.

Brock crossed his arms and nodded. “Yeah.”

“Right..” Rusty tapped his foot on the ground a few times. They were close to the top floor of the hospital, so it was a long trip down.

“You gonna keep treating yourself like a joke until you actually die?” Brock kept his gaze focused straight ahead as he spoke.

“Wha..? Excuse me? Seriously? It’s not my fault I slipped and fell?” Rusty turned toward Brock now. Rusty knew full well he could have prevented himself from slipping and falling if he had just stayed in the bathtub, but he wanted to avoid Brock seeing him naked. Brock saw him naked anyway. 

Brock kept looking forward. “Are you okay?”

Rusty’s eyes widened and he took a step back so his back was against the wall of the elevator. He wasn’t okay, but the last thing he wanted to do was talk about it. This was the most Brock had spoken to him since he got home from the bar. 

Rusty wondered if him opening himself up and being vulnerable was such a big mistake that Brock saw him as an entirely different person now. He cringed internally at himself and was going to vow to keep that sort of stuff to himself from now on. 

It took him a while to realize he hadn’t actually responded to Brock. When he did, it came out as a small squeak. “Yeah.”

“I’m sick of bullshit.” Brock turned toward him now. “Let people help you.” 

Rusty shifted his eyes all around the small space. He didn’t want to deal with this right now. He really felt like a rat, trying to flee from a trap. Brock looked almost uncomfortable, like talking about feelings, whether his own or not, made him grossed out. 

Before he knew it, Brock had grabbed Rusty’s arm, and pulled him in close. Brock kept his hold on Rusty’s arm, firm but gentle and his other arm was testing on Rusty’s side. 

Rusty laid his head on Brock, taking a deep breath in. “I’m sorry.”


	5. Chapter 5

The second the door to the elevator opened, Rusty pulled out of Brock’s arms and headed outside. Brock stood alone in the elevator for a moment before following after him. He picked up the antibiotics he was supposed to take and darted out as quickly as he could manage, which wasn’t very fast. He got dizzy extremely easily and any and all lights and sounds made him feel worse. 

Their ride home was spent entirely in silence. Rusty just stared out the window and tried not to focus on the pain. He wished he would have gotten the painkillers too, but he didn’t trust himself a whole lot with those right now. 

He went they arrived, Rusty was bombarded by the boys almost immediately. He answered every little question he had then darted off to his room. He plopped down on his bed and snuggled under the covers with a greater sense of urgency and enthusiasm than with anything else he’d done in the past few weeks. 

He looked over at his end table and there was a pair of glasses almost exactly like his old ones. He put them on and never realized how much he missed seeing properly. Part of him pondered about where they came from, but he just went ahead and assumed it was Brock. 

Rusty was pissed off at himself. He hated that he let his own insecurity and mental health get so bad that he wound up in the hospital for being an idiot. He hated how much pain he was in and just wished that he trusted himself enough to take pain pills. The pain was too much right now.

He must have fallen asleep, because the next thing he knew he was being shaken awake by Brock. It wasn’t even that hard of a shake, but it scared Rusty regardless. 

“You gotta change that.” Brock then pointed to the dressing on Rusty’s head which had started to accumulate blood and who knows what else around it. 

“Can’t reach.” Rusty stated, and it was true. He couldn’t reach the back of his head well enough to really do it himself. It was such an awkward spot.

“‘Kay.” Brock pulled out all the stuff that the hospital gave them and started slowly undoing the dressing still on Rusty’s head. 

“Thank you, Brock.” 

Brock stopped what he was doing for a second while Rusty said that. “Yeah.” 

“I’m sorry.” Rusty did his best to make his voice sound genuine, because he was. 

“It’s fine,” There was a small pause. “Can you sit up more?” 

Rusty did as he was told and propped himself up on his arms. “I appreciate this a lot.” He paused and gripped the blankets tight. “I.. I’m not okay.. Lately, I mean.. Ah.. You know what I mean.”

“You wanna talk about it?” Brock finished with Rusty’s dressing and sat on the edge of the bed.

“Well, I mean, if it’s not an inconvenience or anything.” Rusty kept his gaze focused down at his hands.

“It’s not.” 

“Brock I got so drunk the other night I couldn’t.. God I just..” Rusty’s head started throbbing again and he had to close his eyes and focus on the words he was going to say. “I feel like I’m not allowed to be depressed? Can you believe it? Thaddeus Venture? Depressed.”

“I believe you. It just.. Happens, Rust.” 

Rusty’s head shot up. “I-“ Brock called him Rust. He didn’t think he’d ever really hear that come from his lips. It felt different than when Pete or Billy called him that. He couldn’t place exactly why. “Brock?”

“Yeah?” 

“This is hard for me.” 

Brock nodded and stood, throwing the old gauze in the garbage then sitting back down on the bed. “I know.”

“You can’t laugh at me, okay?” Rusty made eye contact with Brock for a second, but couldn’t hold it. It felt weird.

“Scout’s honor.” 

“I.. Fuck.. My father is dead, but.. I just the shit he did is.. It’s still all up here..” Rusty pointed to his head, waving his hand around a bit. “Pathetic, isn’t it? A dead man controlling my life?” 

“Dads are shitty, in my experience. It’s hard to move on from that crap, but.. You don’t need to keep it all inside like that.” Brock felt like such a hypocrite because he kept everything about himself on the inside for the most part, so it was hard to even say that without feeling like a liar, but it was what Rusty needed to hear. 

Rusty was shaking now. He didn’t want to talk about any of this, but he had to. If he didn’t, he felt like he was going to implode. He didn’t know who else to trust. He wasn’t close enough with Pete and Billy. The boys were teenagers and his life problems weren’t his burden to put on his kids. 

Rusty saw Brock staring at his hands so much he could barely grip the blanket now. Inside, he was begging for Brock to just get so uncomfortable and leave so he didn’t have to talk more. He couldn’t talk about his trauma anymore right now. 

His hand was so small it could only hold a portion of Brock’s, but he did it anyway. He reached over with shaking fingers and placed his hand on top of Brock’s. When Brock started moving his hand, Rusty went in to instant panic mode and felt like he overstepped. Brock however, had just moved their hands so his was fully on top, entirely enveloping Rusty’s. 

“I’m sorry.” Rusty started to shake less, but the tremor was persistent. He was sick of this. Sick of the crying, the nightmares, the long nights awake when he should be sleeping.

“Hey, you’re okay.” Brock reached his hand up toward Rusty’s face, but hesitated for a minute. 

Rusty flinched, everything inside of him convinced that he was going to be slapped or punched. However, all Brock did was rest his hand on Rusty’s cheek. Rusty’s breath hitched in his lungs and then he felt like he couldn’t breathe all together. 

He couldn’t take even one more breath.


	6. Chapter 6

Rusty turned and pulled away from Brock. Brock moved and instantly stood, walking toward the door. “I’m uh.. Gonna check on things. See how the boys are.” Upon leaving he closed the door behind him, as softly as he could. 

Rusty put his own hand on his cheek where Brock’s hand had been. He took some deep breaths in and out for a moment, then stood and sped out of his room as fast as he could manage without passing out from the pain in his skull. Which, ended up being rather slow. Anything faster than a semi-speed walk made him feel woozy. 

He was met with Brock’s back in the middle of the hallway. Desperately he clung to the back of Brock’s shirt and started shaking, holding back the tears he didn’t want to let out earlier. He was scared to be vulnerable while sober with someone. Brock turned around and let Rusty cry in to the front of his shirt instead. 

Brock then moved so his back was pressed up against the wall of the hallway. Rusty clung to him even tighter, sobs wracking throughout his entire body. He was beyond caring if anyone heard at this point. He just needed this. He needed someone. He felt like he was a plate dropped on the floor that cracked. You kept it around despite the crack because it wasn’t fully broken, but after a while the crack grew and grew until.. 

Rusty frantically shook his head, his words sounding muffled in to Brock’s chest. “I’m sorry.. I’m sorry..” 

He then squeezed Brock as hard as he possibly could, fully knowing that even his full strength wasn’t anything harmful to Brock. “Please, please just hold me. Please.” 

Brock wrapped his arms around Rusty and held him as gently as he could. “Hey, you’re alright.” 

“I can’t do it. It’s too much. I can’t.” 

“Rust, hey-“

“I can’t.. Fuck..” Rusty’s breathing was so uneven his speaking just came out as random sounds between sobs. “I.. Brock. I can’t.” 

Brock simply comforted Rusty. He didn’t think talking would do any good right now. He thought it would be best to just let Rusty get it out. If Rusty needed him to speak, he would. Brock knew his stoic attitude wasn’t always the best for comforting, but he wanted to do his best for Doc. 

“I...” Rusty stopped speaking upon seeing Brock’s eyes fixated on him. Rusty didn’t even realize that he had Brock’s full attention. Rusty cried more, then found himself staring back at Brock, who was still focused on him. 

Warmth made its way across Rusty’s face and he wiped tears away, viciously patting his face to make it seem like that was what had caused them to turn red. He wasn’t sure why his cheeks were acting this way, but they were. 

“I.. Uh..” Rusty thought he had what he had to say mapped out, but when he tried to speak it was the exact opposite. 

He adjusted himself more in hopes that nobody would be able to tell he had just cried all over his bodyguard in the hallway. He felt a bit better than he had in the past.

“Thank you, Brock.. I.. I really do appreciate this.. I don’t mean to be so.. Heh..” Rusty trailed off, staring at the ground where a little wet spot had formed where his tears had fallen. A few more tears fell of their own volition. 

Brock studied Rusty carefully, not saying a word, trying to read his body language better while Rusty kept trying to be subtle about his nose, cheeks, and the tips of his ears turning a bright red color.

“Sometimes I get a little carried away, I think a bit silly with... Brock?”

Brock blinked, pulling his vision back in to focus. He didn’t even realize that he had zoned out. He scanned every inch of Rusty’s face when he focused, doing it simply out of habit. He read people’s faces a lot to try and get a general feel of what they were thinking if they weren’t being direct with their words. 

His heart decided to beat faster for a moment. Brock was wondering why now of all times it chose to act up like this. 

One of Rusty’s hands was still on Brock’s shirt, while the other was squeezed against his own pant leg. Brock moved the one that wasn’t touching him so that it was. Both of Rusty’s hands were clenched tight on to Brock’s drenched shirt. 

Rusty’s hands were so cold even with the layer of fabric between Brock’s skin and his. The temperature difference was just now realized by Rusty’s body, as it shook again for a second before calming down finally. He was afraid of not being able to get it under control.

Brock pulled Rusty as close to him as physically possible. Rusty’s chest was pressed against Brock’s stomach. He knew Brock could feel how Rusty’s breathing had tensed up and it felt like a jar of bees had made its home in his stomach. Everything felt so warm. He wanted to run. Why did he want to run?


	7. Chapter 7

Rusty reveled in Brock’s warmth for a few minutes and then looked up, realizing just how small he actually was. He thought maybe, it was just Brock who was huge. Maybe it was both. Their eyes made contact and he couldn’t keep it. He had to turn away. 

It was then that Brock’s lips connected with his and it felt like the jar of bees within his stomach had gotten shaken up. For a moment, Rusty didn’t even know what was happening. He was awestruck and frozen in place. Brock’s lips were a bit rough, and he tasted heavily of cigarettes. 

He pulled away for a second to breathe and fully comprehend what had just happened before him and Rusty watched the look of instant regret form on Brock’s face. “Brock..”

“I’m sorry that was probably too.. Shit.. God I don’t know what I..” Brock shook his head, feeling idiotic for having done that. “Doc, I gotta go. Sorry.. Fuck.” 

He turned and started down the hallway, leaving Rust standing there with his own puddle of tears. It felt like every emotion was hitting him at once. He was utterly confused in every meaning of the word. He was confused as to why Brock kissed him, confused as to why Brock he left so suddenly, and confused as to why he liked the kiss so much. The bees inside the jar in his stomach had broken free and we’re flying around freely, setting his stomach and whole chest on fire. 

Rusty watched Brock’s shape disappear from his view and he pressed his back against the hallway, then slid down until he sat his butt on the floor. 

His head throbbed.

—

Brock reached the living room and clenched his fists together, pissed off at himself. It took everything inside him to not punch the wall. He calmly walked to the window, but when he reached it, he slammed it open. Then, he ran over, grabbed a vase sitting on the counter, and threw it right out the window. He was angry enough that he didn’t give a shit if it hit someone on the ground below. He listened to it shatter. Part of him felt a little better. 

He paced around the living room some more and decided that he needed to get out of the house, NOW. Brock didn’t care where he went or what he did, he just needed to get out of there as soon as he could. 

Minutes later he was driving down the road, no destination in mind, but he didn’t care how far he went. Eventually he passed by a strip club a few towns over. There were plenty of sleazy bars along the way, but for now, this strip club seemed more of his style. His old urges came back to him. The last thing he wanted was to be touched by anyone, but he was beyond frustrated with everything. This was an odd comfort for him. 

He pulled the car in to the lot and cautiously stepped inside. A few women danced around on pedestals as well as a few men. This was new and something he definitely wasn’t accustomed to. It intrigued him. 

Brock walked around, not sitting down near anyone for a long while. Eventually he sat near a pedestal with a lean, but muscular man with dark brown hair that was pulled in to a Messe bun. The man crouched down and eyeballed Brock from head to toe. 

“I’ve never seen you here before.” He moved from his crouching position on the pedestal to a sitting one. “Most people are regulars. What’s your story?”

Brock gave the man an angry, borderline irritated look. He wasn’t in the mood to chitchat with anyone. “Passing through.” 

Brock then did something he knew he’d regret. He pulled out his wallet and showed the man before him how much was inside.

The man raised an eyebrow and leaned in closer to Brock, making sure to whisper. “I don’t normally do stuff like this, but I’m fucking short on rent this month.” The man then tilted his head in the direction of a back room. Brock followed. 

Upon entering the room they found a small bed, couch, and TV. It wasn’t anything special, but Brock could tell that the strip club was trying to keep this bit of business on the down low. 

Brock took off his shirt and pulled the other man close to him. The feeling of bare skin against bare skin drove him wild. He could tell that the other man was interested to.

Their lips pressed together in to a kiss and Brock’s ego poked at him.

He imagined it was Rusty. 

Poke.

Poke.

_Poke._


	8. Chapter 8

Rusty didn’t move from his position on the floor for a long time. He didn’t keep track exactly, but he presumed it had to have been at least an hour.

When he finally stood, his back cracked and he grimaced in pain. He was too old to be doing any of that shit anymore. None of it felt worth it anymore.

He made his way to the living room and took a seat on the couch instead, hoping that would alleviate his lower back pain. He’d been told time and time again to go get that looked at, but he didn’t. The window being open allowed a cool breeze to make its way in. It felt really nice considering everyone always kept the heat super high. Rusty was always cold, but even he had his limits. 

The breeze blew a little harder now. Rusty looked over at the window and there was a woman crouched in the window frame. The bartender from the bar. Her look was very distinct. 

“Hey you can’t be in here!” Rusty stood and shouted at her. “What the hell did you do? Climb the side of the building?” 

One word went through his mind, spy.

Rusty watched her pull out some sort of gun and before he could move she shot him in the neck. Blood ran down the side of his neck as well as some sort of yellow, chemical-like fluid.

He felt his eyes get heavy. They were so heavy.

“Jesus.. Christ..” Was all he managed to get out before he fell against the couch and on to the floor.

— 

When he came to he was tied to a chair. The restraints were so tight that they were turning his wrists red. He shook around a little bit but nothing budged. 

His communicator watch was on a table a few feet away. It was blinking that he had a message. The chair was bolted to the ground so he couldn’t scoot around to contact help.

The woman came in to the room now through a thin metal door. She had a backpack in her hand that she set on the table. 

“Thaddeus Venture.” She said, a look of disgust on her face. 

“Oh, save it. Not my first kidnapping. Do you want money? Or what?” Rusty was fully sick of all the bullshit life was throwing at him. 

“Dr. Venture, it’s not that simple.” She sighed and picked up his communicator watch. “Brock Samson.”

“Yeah, Brock Samson. Congratulations you can read.” Rusty tapped his foot against the ground. “What the fuck do you want?”

“Revenge.”

“Take a number. Do you have any idea how many people have tried to kill me over the years? Please, this isn’t the first time someone has come crying to me about ‘revenge-“

The woman started laughing before he could finish speaking. “I don’t want to kill you, Doctor Venture. I want to make you suffer like my family has suffered because of your father.”

His fucking dad. Rusty had spent a lifetime trying to escape his dad and here he was again, fucking things up. “Thanks dad.” Rusty mumbled.

She opened the backpack and pulled out a small kukri knife. Rusty had become rather keen on identifying knives in his free time. It was a complicated thing and he had several reason for learning this skill.

She stepped closer to him. She pressed the knife against his arm, cutting in to it. Rusty cried out in pain and clenched his whole body.

She moved downward a bit and cut him again,  
slightly deeper. “You have to pay for your father’s mistakes, Thaddeus.”

She cut again, this time on his bare chest. The pain was indescribable. Rusty felt like he was gonna pass out again. 

“Come now, Doctor Venture. You can’t pass out yet. The fun’s just begun.”

—  
Brock sped down the road as fast as he physically could, far past the legal speed limit. He didn’t care. None of it mattered. He thought about how stupid he was for leaving Rusty alone. 

Around the same time each year, it seemed people got particularly vengeful. Maybe it was the changing of fall to winter. He didn’t know. He lit a cigarette and put it in his mouth, driving with one hand and his knees for a while. 

5 miles.

4.5 miles.

It wasn’t enough. He wasn’t going fast enough. He couldn’t go faster. The car wouldn’t go faster. 

2 miles. 

There was an old radio station on the turn-off long overgrown with weeds, but there were tire tracks leading up to the building.

He slammed his car in to park and kicked the door down in one swift moment. The noise rang throughout the complex and he scanned his eyes across the area. 

The fury was evident in his eyes as he tore throughout the building, eventually coming across a hatch in the floor. This hatch led down in to the ground where there was a long, metal-lined hallway. There were several doors along it. 

He had to make a choice. He chose the door closest to the ladder. It contained nothing but a table and a chair with nobody inside. He ran through room after room, stabbing guards in his wake.

These people were trained, but not nearly good enough. After about six rooms, he threw open the door to another and found Rusty and the woman there. He was covered head to toe in blood. 

He started to pounce toward her, but she pressed the knife against Rusty’s throat. “Brock Samson, yes?”

He clenched his jaw and pulse waves of anger shot all throughout his muscles. It took everything inside him to not jump on her where she stood. 

He had to aim perfectly. One wrong move and she’d slice Rusty’s throat. 

In a split second, he threw his knife, it sticking right in between her eyes. As she fell, the knife slid against Rusty’s throat, light enough that it didn’t hit anything important, but deep enough that he bled. 

Brock crouched down and examined Rusty. A couple of those would need stitches, but he’d be okay. “Can’t take you back to the hospital. Too many questions.” 

“Whatever. That’s fine. Just, fuck.. Untie me.” Rusty squirmed around and his whole body was wracked with pain. 

Brock did as he was untold and untied the chains and ropes used to bind Rusty. “Can you walk?” 

“I couldn’t walk well after the head injury. I sure as hell can’t walk now.” He moved his wrists and they cracked a bit from not having changed their position in a few hours.

“Alright.” Brock said. 

More guards came their way. He took them all out, then ran throughout any remaining rooms, making sure nobody was left. 

He picked up Rusty after he was done, cradling him close. 

The pair left the station and Brock set the place ablaze on the way out. They sat there watching the place go up in flames.


	9. Chapter 9

The drive home was long and spent entirely in silence. Well, mostly silence. Rusty sang along to some music that was being played on the radio. 

When they arrived back, Brock took Rusty in to the bathroom and pulled out their gigantic first aid kit. They both got frequently bruised, broken, and bloody, so it was only necessary that they had these sort of tools.

“Are you gonna let me sew you up?” Brock asked, pulling out the curved needles and surgical thread. 

“Yeah.” Rusty stated, sitting on the toilet and resting his one arm on the counter. 

Brock went to work right away, working in a quick manner to sew each cut closed that needed it. He then applied antibiotic ointment and bandaged the ones that were too small to be sewn shut. It was taking a while, but in just that short time that woman had torn Rusty to pieces. 

“Brock, about earlier..” Rusty wasn’t sure about how to continue. It seemed that Brock understood what he meant though. 

“It’s fine, Doc.”

“Brock.. Do you.. Have feelings for me? Like.. Sexually? Romantically? Whatever, ‘feelings’?” 

Brock stopped half way through putting a large square bandaid on Rusty’s thigh to look up at him. “Does it matter if I do?” 

Rusty’s heart fluttered. “I didn’t handle what happened earlier the best.. I.. I was really nervous.. Confused..”

Brock kept quiet and let Rusty talk more. 

“Brock.. I.. That kiss..”

“If you don’t want it to mean anything, then.. It won’t mean anything.” Brock replied, finishing putting on the bandaid with a soft pat against Rusty’s skin. 

“I never said it doesn’t mean anything.” Rusty picked at one of his fingers. “Why would you want me? Aren’t you straight?”

Brock took a deep breath in. He didn’t know anymore. He’d forced himself to like women for so long he just wasn’t sure about himself anymore. That kiss with Rusty proved he wasn’t just attracted to women. What happened at the strip club earlier had proven   
he wasn’t just attracted to women too. He wasn’t even sure if he was interested in women anymore. 

“Kiss me again.” Rusty’s nervous shake came back for a moment. It was either that or the adrenaline hadn’t fully worn off yet. He couldn’t back out now. The words had already wiggled their way out from between his lips. He didn’t want to back out. 

“What?” 

“Just..” 

The persistent smell of tobacco filled the bathroom. It was rather sweet, and Rusty had grown rather found of it. It was comforting and he associated it with safety, trust. 

It pained Rusty to lift his arms due to the cuts he had sustained, but he did so anyway. He pulled Brock’s face close to his, but didn’t touch their lips together at first. He ghosted his lips across Brock’s, lingering that way for a second. He wanted this to last for as long as he could make it.’

He could feel Brock’s breath against his own. Rusty prayed that his breath didn’t smell bad. One of his hands migrated from Brock’s cheek to the side of his neck, fingers tangling their way in to his hair. 

“Kiss me.” Rusty whispered against Brock’s lips. 

Brock finally closed the distance, and god it felt like nothing he’d ever felt before. The closest thing was Molotov. His mind wandered to her, but he quickly threw it out. Rusty was different.

He wanted things to be different. 

Rusty pulled him closer, deepening the kiss and never realizing how much he missed the way Brock’s lips felt. The first kiss was so quick and it felt like it was over as soon as it began. 

Brock deepened the kiss even further, taking Rusty’s bottom lip between his own. His hands made their way to Rusty’s waist, holding his hips gently.

They broke for air and Brock took this opportunity to speak. 

“I gotta take a shower.” He hummed against Rusty’s mouth, just remembering he was soaked in the blood of the people he’d murdered just a bit ago.

“Who knows where those people had been.” Rusty chuckled and picked at the bandaid on his thigh.

He then stood and headed out of the bathroom, leaving Brock to shower on his own. He hoped they’d talk more in a bit. Rusty was always confused and felt clingy all the time, but to be fair, his track record with relationships hadn’t been great. 

He really hoped this wouldn’t be a one-time thing. 

That was a word he hadn’t used in a long time— hope.


End file.
